


third act love now

by Imnotweirdjustwriting



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 23:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imnotweirdjustwriting/pseuds/Imnotweirdjustwriting
Summary: Crowley’s fear of thunderstorms leads him to seek shelter in the safest place he knows.





	third act love now

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Bastille’s ‘Doom Days’

In 6000 years Crowley had done a remarkable job of keeping most of his memories straight. He prided himself in remembering things that most of the other ethereal beings had deemed unimportant and forgotten, things that should have been mere blips on his radar. He could recall the year of most of his fondest memories, and in many he could even recall which month they’d happened in. 

It was only when the sky’s turned gray— at least, grayer than was usual for London— and the heavy swells of storm clouds hung low, reaching down for the ground it would soon soak. It was days like that when Crowley stopped remembering and got stuck. Stuck standing in a dry dessert, watching the same swollen clouds gather more and more rain, enough to flood away an entire population. 

The storm was as heavy in the sky as it was in his heart. It filled his veins with a sickening sludge, clouded his mind until he was stagnant and paranoid. 

Aziraphale noticed but didn’t comment on the effect that storms had on Crowley. At first it had been because he was too scared. Scared to acknowledge anything he was feeling about Crowley, scared even to admit that they were something that friends. As the years passed it developed into an understanding that Crowley didn’t need to be reminded of the ark and the floods that had scared him, but rather a distraction. 

Following the events of the near apocalypse these distractions tended to be more physical than they had been in more recent years. 

Rain streaked down the windows of the bookshop, nearly obscuring the tiny “closed” sign that Crowley had flipped over when he’d walked in like he owned the place. 

Aziraphale knew he was feeling a completely different thing though, his years of knowing Crowley translating his body language, analyzing the set of his jaw and slant of his shoulders. He was already bracing himself for the storm that was so readily building outside. 

“Makes you think, doesn’t it, Angel?” He said by way of greeting. “All that rain. They really must hate how mankind ended up.”

Aziraphale didn’t comment on the fact that not every rainstorm was a punishment to mankind, just the first few. “It should be a short one.” He said instead. He hoped. 

Crowley sank into a chair with half of his usual grandeur, regarding Aziraphale over the top of his sunglasses. He knew exactly what he was doing, coming into the shop like this, right before a storm. He couldn’t help himself, drawn to the safety of Aziraphale and his tidy little bookshop. “Who knows,” he muttered. He tapped his shoe against the floor, dislodging some mud into the pristine floor. He caught Aziraphale’s eye and snapped, miracling away the dirt. 

“I could’ve used a broom,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley shrugged in a slow roll from one shoulder to the next. “Wouldn’t be as fun, would it?” 

The first crash of thunder was far louder than expected. Crowley jumped, spitting out a mouthful of a jumbled curse. 

“Let’s do something else,” Aziraphale offered. “Not just listen to the rain.”

“What do you propose we listen to instead?” Crowley asked. He was fiddling with his glasses like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to take them off or not. He let his hand fall into his lap as he raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale. “Well?”

“Some music,” he suggested, already turning to thumb through his records. “I found some of that Queen you’re always listening to.”

Crowley barked a laugh. “Don’t you have some Bach to torment me with?”

“I believe it’s you who do the tormenting,” Aziraphale commented, carefully setting up his record player. “A few songs won’t hurt.” He held a hand out to Crowley as Bohemian Rhapsody began. “Dance with me?” 

Crowley considered his open palm for a long moment. “To this?”

Aziraphale nodded. “It’s better to listen to than the rain.”

Crowley took his hand, letting Aziraphale pull him to his feet. They were close, sharing the air between them for a moment before Aziraphale stepped back to give them more room to dance. He only knew the one dance, and Crowley only knew the worst. Anyone passing on the street who happened to peak in would’ve seen quite a horrid sight at the two of them. 

“This is idiotic,” Crowley commented, watching Aziraphale step from side to side. “What sort of a club is this.”

“It’s not a club,” Aziraphale said, stepping closer. 

Crowley did as well, barely moving now. The thunder crashed again and he tried his hardest not to flinch. 

Aziraphale saw the flash in his eyes and he reached out, one gentle hand settling on Crowley’s shoulder. “It’s just a storm,” he said softly. 

Crowley nodded, his expression masked behind the sunglasses. “I know that,” he tried to snap, but his voice was weak. 

Aziraphale closed the space between them, enveloping Crowley in his arms. Crowley relaxed against him, always welcoming to the physical contact they’d shared over the years. “Nothing is going to happen,” Aziraphale assured him, his face against Crowley’s shoulder. 

“I know that,” Crowley said again, his voice must gentler. “I know that, Angel.” He wrapped his arms tighter around Aziraphale. “It doesn’t mean I’m not still scared.”

Aziraphale pulled back to look Crowley in the face. “You can be scared.” He ran his thumb over the curve of Crowley’s cheekbone, drawing his eyes to him. “But you’re still here with me.”

Crowley bent his head just enough so that his nose was brushing Aziraphale’s. He hovered there, waiting. “It’s okay,” whether he said, to himself or to Aziraphale it wasn’t clear. 

Aziraphale leaned in, so close now to Crowley that there was hardly a breath between their lips. Crowley closed the rest of the distance in the span of a moment, crashing their lips together harshly before he settled. There was an urgency and a softness to the kiss, the conflicting emotions Crowley was feeling translating into his lips. Aziraphale knew he was afraid, but he knew Crowley wanted to be here, with him, even when he was afraid. 

Crowley’s arms went around his waist, and he swayed a bit on his feet. 

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asked against his lips. 

“Dancing,” Crowley responded, shuffling a bit more. 

Aziraphale felt his matching grin. He kissed him again, letting Crowley turn them in a slow circle.   
The rain was barely audible over the record, which played on as they kissed and turned in circles in their own little oasis. 

Crowley stopped kissing him, leaning their foreheads together. “We’re safe here.”

Aziraphale kissed him in response, and that said everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a good fic? No. This was 30 minutes in a storm babey. 
> 
> Shoutout to my boy <3


End file.
